Chicago/Skokie/DesPlains, Illinois
Friday, November 22, 1963
‘It Was a Sunny Day…’
Elizabeth had three morning appointments on this cool, damply overcast gloomy Friday…
As Mitchell had— considering, under the circumstances the wisest thing to do, Mitchell had been sleeping at the home of his parents in Skokie.
Driving downtown, Elizabeth parked in her per-paid parking spot at 9:05 a.m.
DesPlains, Illinois:
Friday, November 22, 1963
9:07 a.m.
Emptying the dryer containing the last of this mornings three loads of her children's, her own and the remaining articles of her absent husband’s clothing.
Hanging the jeans, slacks and shirts on pants and wire hangers, Marsha Lipensky carried the remaining arm-fill from the coat/laundry room into the family room where she dropped the mixed bundle of undershirts, T shirts and assorted children’s clothing on the remaining accumulated mound of articles waiting to be sorted and folded — onto the Danish Modern sofa.
Sitting on the sofa before a four by four homemade Formica covered clothes-folding and coffee table, Marsha began to separate her three children’s clothing.
One month ‘into’ her twenty-ninth year, and one month ‘from’ the anniversary of the eighth year of her marriage, Marsha Lipensky, by her own design and desire— with a bit of help from her husband, is the mother of three children.
Six year old Michael in kindergarten at— one short bock away, ‘Mark Twain Grammer School’.
Sitting on the carped floor alongside of thirteen month old Sammy….
“Mommy…” turning from a ‘kids’ show on television, “… when’s daddy coming home?”
Three days since forcing her husband from their home. Three days with no word from from her husband. Still saying nothing of their separation to her children…
This dreary drizzly day further darkening her mood. “Tomorrow, Ellie. Your daddy…” holding back tears “… will be home tomorrow.”
‘It Was a Sunny Day…’
Chicago, Illinois
Mitchell…
Driving to the Howard Street El station, Mitchell boarded the ‘Loop’ El at 11:03 a.m.
Elizabeth...
Arriving at her first appointment at 9:20.
Doing a fast inventory, Elizabeth received and order for 5,00 0 #10 Transco window envelopes.
Elizabeth’s second appointment one block away.
Checking the companion's stock, 1,000, 9X12, 28 pound Kraft, open- end clasped envelopes were ordered.
11:18: Her third and last appointment on this cold, drizzly day:
Waiting in the office as a stock boy/clerk checked... Nothing new needed, nothing was orderd.
Marsha…
10:55: The third load of today’s laundry sorted, folded and stacked om the four by four Formica topped table. Leaning back, Marsha rubbed her eyes with the palms of both hands.
The sky still gray and drizzly, Ellie and Sammy had fallen asleep on the floor before the drowning television.
Reflection… Remorseful reflection...
Why is it always me! Mentally thumping her chest with both fists… Why?
Thoughts… flickering thoughts….
I throw his clothes into cardboard boxes and tell him to ‘get the hell out’ without so much as a reason for doing it, or a thought of his son, or for him!
And, ‘oh, my God’ I get people there; to ‘his’ home, too! People with guns to move our, ‘his’ and my furniture and then take his son — I take his baby from his father and torture him for months by not letting him know where… ‘forget me’ without letting him know where his baby is!
Aloud, “Oh, my god!” Thinking, What’s wrong with me? Looking at her sleeping children. If anyone took my kids from me, I’d die. Is that what I wanted to do to Mitch? To kill him?
And two days ago! “My God!” Was it ‘only’ two days ago when I threw him out without even giving him a chance to say anything...Without even giving him a chance to even deny it! And maybe it ‘was’ just a dream and I threw him out for a God damn dream!
Thoughts coming and going as the wisp of a cloud on a windy day...
And if he ‘is’ seeing her, did I drive him to her?
And if he ‘is’ fucking her is this retribution for all the shit I’ve put him through?
“My God!” Not wanting to wake Ellie and Sammy. What’s the matter with me?”
Leaning back. Closing her eyes. Thoughts of Mitchell and their marriage and his— righteous? — retribution continually flitting through her mind.
Chicago, Illinois
Elizabeth arrived at Mister Leonard’s office at 11:29 and Mitchell at 11:35.
Unbuttoning his trench coat but not removing it, he sat in the chair alongside Elizabeth who immediately took hold of his hand.
12:05
“Mommy!” The front door opening and slamming. “I’m home!”
“Down here, baby!”
Stomping down the three steps. “Hi, mommy! You hear from daddy?”
Sighing. “Not yet, baby.”
“Okay, thanks! Gotta pee.”
Chicago, Illinois
Running ten minutes late, at 11:55
“Mister Leonard can see you now.”
Elizabeth waited in the reception room as…
Address, phone numbers, names, ages and preliminary information given yesterday already written onto the yellow pad:
“When did Mrs Lipensky cause you to leave your home?”
“The first time?”
“Yes, the first time.”
“Uh,” thinking, “ ‘1957’, sometime in May, I came home from work and all my stuff was packed in cardboard boxes in the middle of the room with a note telling me to get out.”
“To your knowledge, Mister Lipensky, there was no reason for this?”
The manner in which the question was put causing him to think for a moment…
“We just had the baby, uh, ‘Michael’, and we’d been arguing about money and things were rough, but no, sir! No real reason. Nothing that we couldn’t work out.”
“Did you strike her?” Writing on the yellow legal pad. “Have you ever struck your wife?”
Remembering the slap in ‘Seagate’ and the retaliatory slap on this occasion; passing on the Seagate slap because it would be too stupid and difficult to explain the reason for that slap.
“On the night before this…”
“The night before?” The attorney questioned. “In May of ’57, the night before your wife told you to leave your domicile?”
“Domicile?”
“Your home.”
Confused… “On the night before, Marsha, uh, my wife left me the note telling me to get out?”
“Yes.”
On the night before, when the baby woke for his feeding, I told her I’d do it, uh, take care of Michael and she became hysterical and she, uh, hit me, twice, then I slapped her back.”
“You say,” writing on the pad, “your wife struck you first?”
“Yes. Twice.”
“Was her hand closed? When your wife struck you was it with a fist?”
“ ‘With a fist’. Yes, sir, twice.”
“And you slapped her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your hand was open?”
“Yes, sir. She punched me and I slapped her back.”
“Afterwards? After you slapped your wife?”
“She calmed down and I thought it best to just leave her alone and went back to bed.”
“You had no further words that night?”
“No, sir.”
“There was no further physical contact that night?”
“No, sir.”
“The next day?”
“I had a part time job and left the apartment very early, before she woke up because I wanted Marsha… I hoped that by the time I got home that afternoon she’d have calmed down.”
“And…”
“When I got home she wasn’t there and all my stuff was packed in cardboard cartons and there was a note… A terrible note telling me to get out.”
“Did you try speaking to her?”
“Yes. Her mother lives upstairs, in the same building and I went there but she, Marsha’s mother, wouldn’t let me in to talk to my wife.”
“How far did this separation go?”
“In ‘57?”
“Yes.”
“We were in court for a, uh, preliminary legal separation.”
“And you reconciled at that time.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Remembering with a bit of a jolt: ‘Marsha in the arms of another man’.
“The judge, he talked to Marsha’n’me in private and we changed our minds and left together.”
“And there was a second separation? When?”
“Yes, sir. When I came home from work in, uh, late in April in 1958…”
Holding his hand up, consulting the yellow pad. “This was less than a year later?”
“Yes, sir. When I got home all of our furniture and everything had been moved out of the apartment and she, uh, Marsha had disappeared with my son and no one that knew us would tell me where they’d gone.”
“Did anything happen the night before to cause this? Did you have words with your wife the night before?”
“Marsha went to a movie with her cousin and a friend and…
We were having some problems again and I had a little too much to drink.”
“You were drinking that night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you drink much, Mister Lipensky?”
“No, sir. Not at all! Well, socially now and then.”
“You were drunk when she returned home?”
“Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I was in the bathroom puking into the toilet when she got home.”
“Did you and your wife have words then?”
No, not really. She refused to sleep in the same bed with me so she slept, uh, someplace else.”
“The next morning, did you have words then?”
“No, sir… I wasn’t feeling very well then and thought it best if I just left.”
“Later that day, when you returned home, everything was moved out of your home. Your things? Did she leave your property?”
“Only my clothes and some…”
His eyes shifting from the pad, the attorney looked at Mitchell, “Some what?”
Remembering that sad day, a lump of angry bitterness coming to his throat.
“Whatever was mine in the dresser she dumped on the floor and took the dresser, and what was hanging of mine she left hanging in the closet. And I had a… Before I left the service, uh, the Coast Guard, I bought a large box of rubbers, uh, prophylactics and she dumped them all over the floor.”
“And the reason for this? For her abandoning you….”
‘For her abandoning you’. Seeing the possibility of a defence of sorts. Remembering Marsha’s ‘desertion’ grounds that first time, thinking, Marsha deserted me!
“…You have any idea why she did that?”
“No, sir! I don’t know of any reason for her to do that.”
“And when you came home from work the next day…” writing, “...the furniture, your wife, your son, everything was gone.”
“Yes, sir. I’d even bought some flowers… You know, to try to make up. But when I got home I found my clothes, and all my other stuff and the rubbers thrown all over the floor.”
“How long until you saw your wife and...” looking at the pad, “… ‘Michael’ again?”
His stomach quivering. “Two and a half months.”
“And all this time you had no idea where they, your wife and son were.”
“I thought they might have been in the country.”
“ ‘The country’?”
“In Michigan.” Feeling ill. “Lakeside.”
Nodding his head. “And were they?”
His mind in turmoil… Hesitating.
Thoughts as the whips of clouds on a windy day.
Away from his children for three days now. Missing his children.
I love Liz! But the thought of divorce. The ‘actual’ thought
of divorce and the thought that he would not be living with his children.
But I love Liz! But, ‘Marsha in the arms of another man’!
Here! Now ‘actually’ speaking to a lawyer! ‘Actually’ about to proceed with a divorce.
Actually about to be away from his children! But I love Liz! What do I care about Marsha? She hates me!
“ ‘Mister Lipensky’!”
Attempting to focus his attention. “Yes, sir.”
“I asked if your wife and Michael ‘were’ in Lakeside.”
“As it turned out, yes, sir. But I had no idea how to find them and no one would tell me for sure.”
“That doesn’t matter. Your wife abducted your son…”
‘Abducted your son’! ‘Kidnapped your son!’
“…and took him across a state line… Out of Illinois, through a bit of Indiana and into Michigan. Across three state lines, as a matter of fact.”
In a bit of a daze, “Did you say that Marsha kidnapped Michael?”
Noticing the questioning tone of Mitchell’s voice.
“Mister Lipensky, we’re trying to set a pattern of your wife’s behaviour towards you. So, ‘yes’! She can’t do that: take your child without your permission and just disappear. That’s kidnapping! And then she removed your possessions from your domicile without your permission. That’s theft!”
A blank expression on his face, What do I care about Marsha? She hates me! Overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. I love Elizabeth—but my kids!
The intercom on his desk buzzing.
As though asking for one minute, holding a finger forward, “Yes, Ida?” Looking at Mitchell. “This’ll take a couple of minutes, but I’ve got to take this call.”
“That’s okay...” Mitchell said “...I’ve got to use the bathroom anyway.”
What do I do? ‘Marsha in the arms of another man’!
Nodding his head, Leonard motioned for Mitchell to go ahead.
His mind in a state of turmoil. Coming from the attorney’s office he hesitated a moment looking at Elizabeth. “I need the toilet!” he said, thinking, What do I do? Rushing from the room. I love her! But my kids!
Going into the hallway. Rushing into a down heading elevator as the door was about to glide shut. ..
“Lobby,” he said impatiently to the elevator operator.
Chicago, Illinois
Friday, November 22, 1963
‘It Was a Sunny Day...’
Looking at his watch: 12:28.
No longer drizzling. Glancing through the lobby windows at the blowing sleet as he rushed to the phone booth he’d seen when he entered the lobby.
Dropping a dime in the slot, dialling…
‘It was a sunny day…’
The kids in the kitchen having lunch of toasted cheese sandwiches and Campbell’s Tomato soup.
A forgotten cup of tea on the oversized, Formica topped coffee table. Folding the last of Ellie’s underwear, Marsha was paying scant attention to ‘As The World Turns’ when the phone rang. Rising wearily, going to the phone on the wall, “Hello.”
“Marsha.”
Unable to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. Her attitude constantly swaying from anger to sadness to loneliness to fear of the future—to mostly loneliness and fear of the future—unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls at a time since that morning three days ago.
This being the first time she’d hear from Mitchell since he left. Sounding unfriendlier than she’d intended to sound. “What do you want, Mitchell?”
‘It was a sunny day…’
Noting the tired tone of her voice, “Marsha…”
Her eyes listlessly shifting to the television…
“We’ll see a marriage counsellor, if you’d like…”
It was a sunny day in…
“Marcie…” sincerely meaning it “...I love you!”
It was a sunny day in…
“Oh, my God!”
Thinking she was speaking to him. “I miss you and the kids, and…”
“Oh, my ‘God’, Mitchell!”
The tone of her voice now of horrid amazement…
It was a sunny day in Dallas, Texas…
“Marsha, what’s…?”
“The president!”
“ ‘Kennedy’? What?”
Other than the distant, muffled sound of television…
The line silent…
“Marsha, what?”
“Just now, in Dallas, President Kennedy…” Her voice rising, “He was shot! Oh, my ‘God’!”
“Jesus! Is he dead?”
“Don’t know yet.” Stretching the line, taking the receiver with her. “Mitchell, wait.” Turning the volume up…
“Here...” the announcer said “...is a bulletin from CBS News.”
“In Dallas, Texas...” Walter Cronkite announced “...three shots were fired at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas. The first reports say that President Kennedy has been seriously wounded by the shooting.
“More details just arrived. These details about the same as previously: President Kennedy shot just as his motorcade left downtown Dallas. Mrs Kennedy jumped up and grabbed Mister Kennedy, she called, ‘Oh, no!’ as the motorcade sped on.
“United Press says that the wounds for President Kennedy perhaps could be fatal.
“Repeating a bulletin from CBS, President Kennedy has been shot by a would be assassin in Dallas, Texas.
“Stay tuned to CBS news for…”
In tears now. “Oh, my God!”
“Please, Marsha, can I come home?”
The line silent…
“Marsha?”
Needing him! Needing her husband’s arms to enfold her… To enfold their family.
“ ‘Yes’, baby, come home!”
For Better Or Worse
Till Death Do We Part
End
A FBOW addendum: “The Godfather”
